I wouldn't be alive if I didn't tell someone I needed help. I would have done that much sooner if my depression and anxiety issues were normalized. I founded Depressed While Black to be an online platform where we can share stories that remind us we are not alone. Our mental health is often bombarded with messages that people of color are less deserving of psychological care. Minority mental health reclaims our minds and embraces our complex and vulnerable humanity. Taking medication doesn't make you less of a spiritual person.

After I began writing, tweeting, and talking about my journey with depression, suicide, and anxiety, I started to host events, participate in panels, give keynotes, and lead workshops based around mental wellness, particularly for Black folks. Via essays, articles, my site TheColoredBoy.com, and my podcast The Extraordinary Negroes, I try to talk and write about mental and emotional wellness as much as possible. Recently, I hosted a literary showcase and conversation series at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture called #GetSomeJoy: A Blackstravaganza for Mental.

When I was growing up, mental health was never discussed. If it was mentioned, it was hidden like a dirty secret or dismissed as a "white thing." But communities of color are not immune to mental illness. If anything, we're exposed to more trauma due to oppression and need to know how to take care of our mental health. If we continue to neglect our mental health, our bodies and spirits suffer. We deserve to experience wholeness and healing.

I got started because I realized that if I didn't start being open about mental illness, I never would. There would never be an ideal time. And so all of this works its way into the work that I do. As my immigrant, Taiwanese mother told me, "We don't talk about these things." Minority mental health matters to me not only because minority communities often stay quiet about such topics, but also because minority communities experience traumas that are specific to their communities and that impact mental health.

I've written extensively about my experience as a postpartum depression and anxiety survivor. In my visual art, I focus on the impact of trauma-both inherited and personal, and how living with rapid cycling bipolar disorder type 2 impacts my life. In my first couple of years as a mental health advocate, I noticed a lack of outreach and advocacy targeted specifically to and inclusive of women of color. I noticed our needs and experiences weren't being widely recognized or discussed and saw very few spaces dedicated to providing us support.

When I was really ready and able to embrace the fact that I had a mental illness, I wanted to educate myself on the disorder I have. And through seeking education, I developed a passion to advocate for all those that are affected by the stigma of mental illness in our society. Because I always find myself in the minority, black, woman, LGBT, low socioeconomic upbringing etc., I pride myself in finding my own voice by being a voice for the voiceless and marginalized.

I founded QTPoC Mental Health in March 2015 after a year-long breakdown brought on by resurfacing trauma, and instead of getting support and compassion from the people around me at that time, I was abused in multiple ways. Desperation got me started; gratitude and love keep me going. And the movement to create emotional support resources by and for queer & trans people of color just keeps growing because of so many of us, myself included, need support that existing systems of care don't currently provide.

I do not engage in full-time mental health work. but I do use my platform to regularly discuss mental health. I've written about my own challenges with depression for major publications and I host chats about mental health on Twitter. I try to be as open as possible about my past issues with depression so that others will feel safe to share their stories and seek the help they need. Many people have reached out to me on social media, which makes me feel very proud that my transparency makes a difference.

I found Letters to Strangers when I was 14. Two years prior, I'd sunk deep into depression and bipolar disorder and attempted suicide. After that experience, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone feeling so lonely and lost. I believe in the power of human connection; that writing is humanity distilled into ink; that one letter - one human connection - can save a life. So when I heard of people at VidCon exchanging letters with strangers for fun, I transformed that into an in-school experience where peers could support each other with anonymous letters meant to share their own stories, thoughts, and provide solace in the comfort of respectful anonymity.

I started working as a therapist 13 years ago. Someone who battles addiction doesn't just battle addiction. Everyone's story is combined. I started blogging about self-care and mental health two years ago to share resources and inspiration with people outside my therapy office. Self-care isn't just for therapy clients. Solution-focused care is needed worldwide. I want people to walk out of their house every day knowing what they need & honoring their needs in order to be a kinder, more empathetic human.

Minority mental health matters to me because in my community, it is still so taboo to discuss it. My dad was from India and my mom is African American. I was raised in an all African American community, and people did not talk about mental health. Even now, it seems that many are still afraid to face these issues head-on. What so many don't understand is that help is there and it is possible to lead a successful life. There are so many levels of mental health and I want to do my part to raise awareness.

Minority mental health matters for a myriad of different reasons. Minorities and people of color carry the weight of our collective trauma. No matter how we dissect it, we're still trying to make sense of some heavy historical pains. As people of color, we don't receive adequate and ongoing mental health support. During my time serving as a community-based therapist, I witnessed everything. I stood helplessly over incubators looking at newborn babies addicted to heroin. I cried with mother's as their children were shipped off to juvenile detention centers. I was also faced with de-escalating multiple violent domestic disputes.

Mental illness doesn't discriminate yet we have a really hard time talking openly about it in communities of color. I think there's a misconception that self-care is a luxury that other people can afford but we, as people of color, should be "strong" enough to shake off any issues we face.

How I got involved...well I struggled with recurring symptoms of depression starting in my childhood, which became more severe in my teenage years. My senior year of high school, I asked adults for help but was told, "this is just teenage angst." Then, my freshman year of college, I lost a friend who was diagnosed with bipolar disorder to suicide.

During my darkest hour of depression, when I didn't think I could hold on to life for another day, I remember wishing there was a place where I could talk to other women of color with similar experiences. Years later my passion for mental health and my life-long fascination with writing and literature came together when I started my blog Spoken Black Girl. Since then, I've been raising awareness about mental health and mental illness while creating spaces for women of color to share their stories of healing through writing. My latest project is Spoken Black Girl Magazine, an online space where women of color can share their wellness journeys while learning from the experiences other women of color.

Project UROK is an initiative of the Child Mind Institute, an independent, national nonprofit dedicated to transforming the lives of children and families struggling with mental health and learning disorders.